


Depth of Field

by SongOfMarbule



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Falling In Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 04:38:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17932970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongOfMarbule/pseuds/SongOfMarbule
Summary: Prompto Argentum, a thirty-something working as a bartender at the Garamonde Pub, excels at what he does. Cheerful, efficient and creative, he and the drinks he mixes leave a lasting impression on his customers. One night, a strange and handsome newcomer drops in, and Prompto can't help but be curious. Who is this guy who seems so out of place, and why does he look so, so, tired? And why does he keep coming back every Friday night?





	Depth of Field

**Author's Note:**

  * For [delina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delina/gifts).



> This was written for my lovely friend [Del](https://delborovic.tumblr.com)! Thank you so much for the idea, I had a LOT of fun writing this!! <3 I hope you enjoy!
> 
> [Please check out this AMAZING ART Del made for the fic!!!](https://twitter.com/deltastic/status/1103849296200417280)

“Another!” shouted someone from the left.

“Fill ‘er up, wouldja?!” shouted another from the right. Maybe? It was hard to tell.

Prompto was used to Friday nights at the Garamonde Pub being an absolute madhouse, but tonight was turning out to be something else. Sleeves pushed up to his elbows, vest buttoned neatly and bowtie where it should be and not crooked in the slightest, Prompto was ready to conquer anything the night brought him, but _wow_ was it ever _loud_ in here.

“Prom, apparently someone’s tryin’ to start shit near the restrooms,” came the voice of his best friend and security guard, Gladiolus, just inches from his ear. “Gonna toss the bastard out before hell breaks loose.”  Weird, his massive tattooed companion wasn’t there behind the counter a second ago - just when did he get there, anyway? - oh, wait, now he was gone.

_Clink, clink, clink_ , went each glass Prompto slammed down on the counter, all in a row like a family of ducks crossing a street. The air around him was a heavy cacophony of _loud_ \- people laughing, people shouting in drunken merriment, people slurring in drunken pre-argument, more _clinks_ of ice and rocks rattling the walls of empty shot glasses - it was like a symphony of angry swarms of bees. If Prompto had been a newbie fresh out of school like he had been when he first started training for the job, he would have been completely at a loss right now, but no - Prompto, an experienced thirty years of age and ten years of bartending under his belt - had this. It was no sweat.

But even he had to admit that it was starting to get difficult to keep up.

“Thanks, Sug,” crooned Cindy, plucking a ChocTail from the counter and up onto her serving plate, alongside a bed of piping hot french fries. “Don’t you go and forget to breathe, now.”

“Yep!” Prompto chirped, grabbing two more bottles off the wall behind him. He popped them open against the counter’s edge, his wrists giving a flashy twirl before proceeding to mix three more drinks. “Breathing’s good! Gotta say, I’m a fan. Doing a whole lot of it right now, as a matter of fact!”

“Good!” she replied, then off she went, disappearing into the great abyss of customers.

Most Friday nights were nothing but a blur. Prompto just worked on autopilot, filling orders one after the other, mixing drinks and tossing them wherever they needed to be. He couldn’t really acknowledge who he was serving, either - he didn’t have time to. Even his favourite regulars were nothing but a mosaic blur to him in the chaos of keeping his customers happy. But luckily, Prompto was good at what he did, even when working under heavy pressure. He would deny it until his freckled cheeks were as blue as a berry, but the repeat customers who came to the bar specifically for his custom concoctions were proof enough.

_Clink, clink, clink_.

Forget breathing - just _existing_ was starting to become a task. And as the hours continued on, the customers kept coming, and with them came more methods to the madness. And on top of it all, the troublemaker Gladiolus had removed earlier found a way to sneak back in and now there was a table flipped and broken glass on the floor, and _then----_

“Unbelievable,” came an unfamiliar voice in front of him. “I understand that it’s a bar on a Friday night, but if the reviews were to be trusted, I was under the impression that this one was classier than the others in the neighborhood.”

That voice - it was peculiar. Prompto didn’t recognize it. It was low, yet smooth, and laced with an uncommon accent not found often in this part of town. He couldn’t help but think it was akin to a fancy overseas spy in one of those over the top movies or something. He opened his mouth to offer a snappy comeback, but just before the words could fall from his mouth, he was stunned into silence when he looked up from the foamy mug he’d just filled from the tap.

All around him was still a hazy blur - a sea of washed out faces, details lost in the flurry of the atmosphere, shapes and shadows pulsing with the bass of the music. And yet, despite it all, the sight that was now in front of him was crystal clear.

The owner of that smarmy voice was, quite possibly, the most gorgeous creature Prompto had ever seen in his life.

The guy couldn’t have been much older than himself. He had a chiseled jawline and a finely sculpted nose that housed an expensive-looking pair of spectacles atop the bridge, with ash-blond hair styled neatly in a faux-pompadour above his piercing green eyes. His pinstripe shirt was buttoned just low enough to showcase a fantastic set of pecs - and the cherry on top? He had a voice that could melt the arctic. In simple terms - handsome, though handsome just _barely_ scratched the surface of appropriate adjectives.

Prompto had never seen this man before. He looked almost… lost. And classy? Like he didn’t belong here. And if that was so, then why _was_ he here? Maybe Moogle Maps had given him the wrong address and he’d meant to hop on the nearest ferry to Altissia instead. Or maybe he was one of those weirdos who had nothing better to do but scour the internet all night and day, looking up restaurants and bars he’d never heard of for the sole purpose of trashing them online later after visiting?

Having been momentarily stunned, Prompto snapped back to attention and continued on with what he was doing. He fumbled with a shot glass, popping another cork from a nearby bottle. “It isn’t normally like this, I swear!” he yelped. “But I dunno, if you can’t handle it, there’s another place just down the block that you might like instead. Lots of, uh, piano music and---”

“I’m here to try the Freckled Tonberry,” the man interrupted. “Is that not the signature drink of this establishment?”

_Oh, wow_ , Prompto thought. _He really_ did _look up reviews._

“One Freckled Tonberry, coming right up!” Prompto chirped merrily.

Prompto slid the drink he had been working on to the side, reaching for an empty glass to prepare the stranger’s drink next. He could feel the man’s eyes on him, his gaze intense, observing, possibly dissecting his every move. What was this? Was he some kind of bar mystery shopper or something? Prompto wasn’t sure, but something about him was throwing off his groove.

_Couldn’t possibly be because he’s insanely attractive_ , Prompto thought. _Nope. Not at all._

“One Freckled Tonberry,” Prompto announced proudly, placing the glass in front of the man with a mild _thunk_.

“You have my thanks,” the man replied. His long fingers - Prompto noticed that they weren’t bare, covered with some sort of leather material - curled around the glass, lifting it and studying the swishing contents as if trying to determine if he was just served poison.

And then, down the hatch it went.

“Well?” Prompto urged. He stared, studying the man’s features for any sort of reaction…

...and there was none.

“Thank you,” the man said again. He stared at his empty glass, then frowned. Prompto wondered if he was considering telling him off or maybe even ordering another, but before he could even suggest it, the man placed some gil on the counter and got to his feet.

Then, just as quickly as he’d arrived, he was gone.

Just who in the heck _was_ that guy?

“Damn, don’t see someone like that every day,” said Gladiolus.

“Gah!” Prompto squeaked, practically jumping five feet in the air. “You’ve _really_ gotta stop doing that, dude!”

With a well-built physique, burning amber eyes, a luxurious head of chestnut hair and a rumbling voice that could send a quiver down anyone’s spine, Prompto was more than a little envious of his friend’s appearance. The dude was like a romance novel model. It was even more evident tonight, as the more he stared at Gladiolus, the more Prompto could see every curve and perk of every single muscle through that damn tight shirt he’d insisted on wearing.

_He could poke an eye out with those things,_ Prompto thought.

Gladiolus shrugged casually. “Doing what?” be asked.

“ _That!_ The whole teleporting thing!” Prompto exclaimed. “I swear, one day I really _am_ gonna drop a giant bottle of expensive stuff and it’s gonna be all your fault.”

Gladiolus just snorted, clapping his hand to the small of Prompto’s back. “You? Break something? As if.”

“Anyway,” Prompto huffed with a sigh. He pushed his blond hair back, taking another deep breath to calm down before he went back to work.  “You know that guy or something?”

“Nah. Hot as hell, though. If you get his number, send it my way, yeah?”

“Don’t count on it.”

“Oh, I get it. _You_ want his number instead.”

“No!” Prompto retorted, maybe a little louder than he’d intended. He cleared his throat, then clarified. “I mean. No. No way. His number? Why would I want that? That would be hella implying something, and man, that is _so_ far off my radar that not even a satellite could pick it up.”

“Yeesh, okay, okay, I get it already. Whatever you say, Prom.” Gladiolus gave him a look - _that_ look, the one that said _you're full of shit,_ before disappearing once more.

Secretly? Prompto _did_ kind of want his number, but he wouldn’t see that man again until next Friday, after a long, boring slog of a week caused him to forget all about him. Not that he would have had the courage to ask him for said phone number, anyway.

Next Friday wasn’t quite as busy as the last, but it was still hectic. Cindy was off sick, and after waiting an hour for their next waitress to come in and cover the shift, Prompto found that he was behind in his orders. He managed to keep his head on his shoulders, though, and once the initial after-work rush had passed, things had calmed down considerably. He finally had a chance to relax a little. He kept an eye on the crowd, attentive to anyone who might need a top off while he wiped the counter with a rag.

And then, seemingly out of nowhere, _he_ appeared.

The mysterious man from last week sat down on the bar stool directly in front of Prompto, leaning forward against the counter. He sighed heavily, lowering his head as he smoothed a hand through his hair, which wasn’t styled quite as nicely as it had been the previous week. Prompto stared at him, finding the man’s presence almost unnerving as the guy didn’t so much as glance at him, nor speak a word. Prompto was used to serving guys down on their luck, people trying to unwind at the end of a stressful week at work, but it was hard for him to choose which approach he should take right now. Cheerful? Calm, yet understanding? Standoffish?

Okay, he didn’t mean to choose standoffish, but it was what it was.

“Well, well, well, look who it is,” Prompto mused, crossing his arms over his chest. “Decided to come back, even after you no doubt left us a scathing review on your favourite foodie site, huh?”

Silence.

_Dammit Prompto_ , he scolded himself. _Why oh why did you choose the standoffish approach?!_

“Sorry! No hard feelings, even if you did do that. I was just joking around a bit, is all. What can I get you, my good sir?” Prompto scrambled, trying to lighten the brooding mood that was starting to suffocate him.

He was met with more silence. Then, suddenly---

“I didn’t catch that. Did you say something just now?” the man murmured at last. His green gaze rose to meet Prompto’s blue, his former lifeless expression melting away into something resembling consciousness. He was like a robot leaving sleep mode, slowly tuning back into reality. “My apologies.”

“Don’t you worry about it! Probably better that you didn’t hear it anyway,” Prompto said with a forced laugh. He clapped his hands together, tapping the toe of his shoe against the floor. “You look like you could use some TLC. Whaddya fancy? You strike me as a bourbon man. Am I right?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” the man replied. Even with the hint of life now evident in him, the man still seemed so out of it. Drained. Utterly detached from reality. He heaved another harsh sigh, sitting up straight in his seat.

Prompto could relate, most days.

“One bourbon, coming right up.” Prompto served the drink, placing it in front of him.

More silence.

“Do you often gawk at at your customers, like a spectator at the zoo?” the man said after a moment.

Oh, shit. Prompto had been staring.

“No!” he squeaked. “Sorry. It’s been a long night. Kinda zoning off there, heh.”

“It’s quite all right. I’ve had a long day, myself.” The man finished off his glass, once again studying it like it was some kind of foreign object. “Very good. You have my thanks.”

“Not a problem, my man.” Prompto gave him the most pleasant smile he could muster. “Anything else I can get for you?”

“I wouldn’t mind having another Freckled Tonberry, if you would be so kind.”

“Really?” Prompto asked quizzically. “I thought you hated it.”

“And why would you say that?”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because last week you ran out of here like you’d just realized you’d left the oven on after you drank it?”

The man pursed his lips, deep in thought. “I don’t recall,” he replied. “But I have to say, it was actually quite lovely. Very unique flavour.”

This guy was, in so many words… strange.

With a crooked smile, Prompto pushed on, nodding cheerfully. “Okay then! One Freckled Tonberry, coming right up.”

“Thank you.”

While Prompto mixed the drink, he decided to show off a little. Why, he wasn’t sure - he doubted that this guy would be impressed by dumb tricks - but he felt compelled to anyway. He dramatically produced his ingredients from the fridge, giving the bottles a twirl before he added them one by one to the glass like a flashy fountain. He didn’t even have to watch what he was doing - he kept his eyes fixed on the man in front of him, a playful smirk on his lips as the other regarded him with a look that resembled confusion and a hint of awe. Maybe.

“You’re quite talented,” the man said after Prompto slid the finished drink in front of him at last.

“Me? Nawwww. Not at all,” Prompto said with a dismissive wave of a hand. “That drink’s our most popular one. Came up with it myself. I’ve made it so many times I could probably mix it blindfolded. But then again, I’m sure everyone who mixes drinks here could.”

“Even so, it does take some skill. Not everyone can make the preparation process as flashy as you do, without so much as a blink of an eye. I take it you must have broken a bottle or two in your day?”

“Nope. Never,” Prompto replied. “Never even dropped a glass. I mean, I know, right? Me, not being a walking disaster for once in my life? Perish the thought.” He laughed. “At home when I'm washing dishes, though? Yep. Glass. Absolutely everywhere, like dangerous not fun confetti. But here? _Never._ I'm actually kinda… good at doing flashy twirly stuff with bottles, for some reason.”

“I see,” the man remarked. “I suppose we all have our hidden talents.”

“What about you?” Prompto asked. He tapped his fingers against the counter, riding off the adrenaline of actually holding a conversation with this magnificent creature. “What sort of weird talent do _you_ have? Let me guess. You can eat soup with your feet. Spoon crammed in your toes and your legs everywhere like a contortionist, just chowing down on some cream of mushroom in your tighty-whities. Right?”

To Prompto’s surprise, the man cracked a hint of a smile.

“If only,” he said. “Unfortunately, I regret to inform you that my talent is not quite as impressive as that.”

“Try me,” Prompto urged.

The man pondered for a moment, then continued. “I can juggle.”

“Wait, what?”

“As I said - not very impressive.”

“Are you kidding, dude? That’s great! That’s cool!” Prompto exclaimed. “Do you know how hard it is to do that? Like, it’s actually a _lot_ harder than it looks. If I tried that, there’d be broken _everything_ everywhere.”

The man smiled wryly. “I’ll agree that it isn’t that common, then.”

“Nope. Damn, now I can say I’ve met a juggler. If any circus folk cross my path, I’ll make sure to let them know that I’ve got a new recruit they can swing by and pick up on Friday nights. Tell them that my good friend---errr, what’s your name?” Prompto asked innocently.

“Ignis,” the man gave.

“Ignis!” Prompto clapped his hands together. “That my good friend _Ignis_ is gonna juggle their _socks off_ . _Damn_ , you’ve even got a cool name. All right, everyone go home, the coolness level is at _maximum_ in this place tonight. We can’t take any more or else the place’s gonna combust, or something.”

Ignis smiled, then - a real smile, one that bloomed and brightened his expression like someone had shone a spotlight on him - before he glanced away. “‘Cool’,” he repeated. “That’s a new one. I suppose there’s a first time for everything after all.”

Prompto looked forward to Friday nights from now on.

“Just fuck already,” Gladiolus boomed a few weeks later. “Seriously, watching the two of you is damn painful. I can practically taste the hormones saturating the air, like someone spritzed flowery bathroom spray everywhere.”

“What?!” Prompto yelped. He nearly dropped a glass that time. Close call. “What are you talking about?”

“You and Specs,” Gladiolus clarified. “Every time the guy’s in here it’s like watching two emus do a courtship dance on the Discovery Channel.”

“Dude, you’re just imagining things,” Prompto denied, shaking his head as he mixed another drink. “He’s just a new regular of mine, that’s all.”

“A new regular that you totally want to bone down with.”

Prompto laughed, an exasperated sound that he swore echoed even with the music blaring around them. “Whatever you wanna fantasize about, dude, that’s between you and your junk. But this is _reality_ , and in _reality_ \---”

“---you want to take him into your office---”

“Gladio--!”

“---and take him to Bone Town. On your desk.”

Prompto turned around, leaning his back against the counter. He paused, then replied sheepishly. “...maybe a little,” he admitted in a small voice.

“Shit,” Gladiolus grinned. “I knew it.”

“Only a little!” Prompto reiterated. “But that doesn’t mean anything! I mean, everyone finds someone hot every once in awhile, but that doesn’t mean that they’re gonna load ‘em up and take ‘em on a trip to…” He made a face. ”‘Bone Town’.”

“Well, why not?”

“Why not what?”

“Pick him up in your car and take him on the scenic route to Bone Town.”

“Dude, have you seen him? The guy’s totally out of my league.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Uh, because he’s like a clever spy movie villain and I’m like, the tree in the background of the set?”

“A villain?” Gladiolus raised his eyebrow.

Prompto made a frustrated noise. “You know what I mean!”

Gladiolus laughed. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re definitely the clever villain’s even cleverer sidekick. Or maybe it’s actually the other way around.”

“Nooooope. Wrong. Tree. Tree forever. See these branches? Leaves. Everywhere.”

“But people like trees. They provide ambience and clean the air. Shit, look at hippies. They’re always hugging them and shit. And who doesn’t like hugs?”

“Don’t want hippies touching me, dude.”

His friend continued to laugh, shaking his head. “Well, whatever, Prom,” Gladiolus murmured. “But the fact of the matter is, you’ve got it, and you’ve got it _bad_ . For both of your sakes, I suggest you consider buying that Bone Town ticket before you end up busting through your pants. I know those pants ain’t cheap, so why not save yourself some cash? Do yourself a favour and just _think_ about it.”

“Ugh,” Prompto groaned. “You’re the absolute worst, you know that?”

Gladiolus just patted Prompto’s back before he stepped away. “ _Think about what I said_ ,” he repeated ominously, disappearing from behind the counter.

‘Bone Town’.

Prompto couldn’t _possibly_.

The two continued their ‘courtship dance’ for the next month and a half.

Every Friday, it was like clockwork: Ignis would come in, order his usual drink, and even on the busiest of Fridays, Prompto still found time to chat with him. Some days Ignis looked absolutely drained - well, no, that wasn’t accurate, _most_ days he _was_ absolutely drained - but even when he was completely out of it, the man still smiled at him and they’d talk with one another for long hours, sometimes right up until closing.

Prompto enjoyed his company. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this way about another person. But even with the glaring evidence right in front of him, he still didn’t want to admit that yeah, okay, _maybe_ Gladiolus was right. But it wasn’t even just an _oh-he’s-so-hot_ kind of deal anymore - Prompto thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , he actually genuinely _liked_ the guy. There was still just one little problem, though: Ignis was out of Prompto’s league.

And Prompto kept on telling himself that every single day. Whenever he felt that all too familiar pull on his heartstrings, whenever his idle thoughts turned to the subject of Ignis - he’d remind himself not to get his hopes up. Even after Prompto arrived home after his Friday night shift every week, his mind buzzing and emotions on high, he’d remind himself: _Don’t get too attached. You’re setting yourself up for nothing._

Then, one Friday night, as if to reaffirm his negative thoughts: Ignis never came.

It was definitely strange. They’d had a routine going on - Ignis had been there every week, Friday on the dot, ever since he’d wandered into the bar that first night. Was there a reason? What could it have been? Prompto spent all weekend mentally beating himself up over it.

_It’s silly,_ he told himself. _Ignis doesn’t have to come in every week. Maybe he had a work function he had to attend to, or maybe he went on a weekend vacation_ ? And then those thoughts quickly turned to _Oh no, I must have said something stupid, he hates me now, he never liked me to begin with, maybe he picked up someone from the bar and took them home and now they’re married and I’ll never see him again._

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait until next Friday night for the mystery of Ignis’ disappearance to solve itself - for some odd reason, it was Tuesday night when Ignis showed his face at the bar again. Tuesday, the slowest night of the week; Tuesday, the day that Prompto abhorred because it was just plain _painful_ and they _really_ should just close the bar down on that day. It was always a ghost town, not a customer in sight. The same was for this Tuesday, at least, up until 7PM sharp when a certain someone walked in through those doors.

Immediately Prompto could tell that something wasn’t right. Ignis, well… he looked like... shit. His posture was all wrong and his shirt looked like it could use a good ironing.The dark circles under his eyes rivalled even Prompto’s. Had he been sleeping? He looked like he’d just crawled out of a cave in the woods after living out there for a year. Prompto didn’t know if he should ask him about it or just act casual, but ultimately, casual was his best bet.

“Hey, buddy,” Prompto greeted. He already had a glass on the counter, getting out the ingredients to mix Ignis’ current favourite drink - one he’d come up with for him two weeks ago, just for fun. “Good to see ya. I was wondering if you were doing all right.”

Ignis nearly scoffed as he sat down on the stool. “‘All right’,” he repeated. “I’m far from ‘all right’, but I appreciate the sentiment regardless.”

_Yikes_. “Uh oh,” Prompto said. “Something happen?”

“No, not particularly,” Ignis replied. Ignis’ voice was certainly tired, but there was something else to it, too - something that worried Prompto. “But I do believe I’m coming to the end of my rope, now.”

So he was right. Something _was_ up.

“Oh?” Prompto inquired. “Do you, uh… wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Ignis said sternly.

Prompto felt his blood run cold, shifting from foot to foot as he twiddled his thumbs. Ignis had never spoken to him in that tone before, and now any grasp he thought he had on the situation had flown out the window.

“Ah,” Prompto uttered awkwardly, fumbling for a response to give. “Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool cool. Okay. Uh, lemme just get your drink over to you ASAP then, huh?”

Awkward silence filled the air while Prompto worked on Ignis’ drink. After Prompto served him, Ignis continued his silent streak, slowly sipping on his beverage as Prompto pretended to be busy behind the counter. Prompto couldn’t even keep himself busy by tending to guests - there was only one other customer besides Ignis in the bar, and he was off at a table on the far side of the room. On top of it all, Tuesday nights meant lower volume music, and that meant… even more awkward silence.

_Gods,_ this was painful. He had to fix this. Even if he couldn’t fix what was going on with Ignis, he could at least attempt to fix the air.

“Tuesdays sure are different, huh?” Prompto said after Ignis had finished his drink. He was already halfway finished mixing another, assuming Ignis would need more than just one with that mood of his right now. “Compared to Friday, it’s like night and day.”

“Indeed,” Ignis murmured. “I almost prefer it, though. I can actually hear you, unlike on Fridays, when that horrendous noise you call music is so loud I can hardly think.”

Prompto smiled. “Heh, well.. Y’know… Fridays. Though in their defense, they’re not nearly as bad as Saturdays. In here, Saturdays are like… a wildebeest stampede in a gorge. Fridays are like one or two rhinos mowing down a couple of trees in a random jungle somewhere.”

Ignis made the faintest sound of amusement. “That’s quite the analogy.”

“Yeah? I thought so too.” Prompto turned so he could grab another bottle off the rack. “Tuesdays, on the other hand, are like the tranquil water hole that none of the animals want to go to.”

“Ah, so the water is poisoned?”

“Dude! Are you accusing me of poisoning you?” Prompto laughed, pretending to be offended. “Why I _never_.”

And there it was - the smallest crack in the dam, a faint hint of a smile. “No need to fret,” Ignis said lightly. ”You’re the purest water there is. Fresh spring water, even. Straight from the mountain source.”

Gods, did Prompto just blush at a water metaphor?

“Heh… anyway…” Prompto continued, gently sliding the second glass he’d prepared for Ignis towards him. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you.” Ignis’ gloved hand found the glass immediately, clasping it close.

_Thump, thump_ , went Prompto’s heart.

_Dammit._

Ignis’ brow unfurrowed itself slightly, his green eyes studying the ice bobbing in his drink. “One could say that last week was less than ideal for me.”

“Oh yeah?” Prompto said, carefully choosing his words. “Rough time at work?”

“I suppose. It’s nothing different, when it all boils down to it, but… it’s just… taken its toll on me at last.”

Prompto chewed on his lip. Earlier, Ignis had told him that he didn't want to talk about it, but now… Was this an invitation? He froze up, worried that he would overstep. To ask, or not to ask?

Ignis sighed. “I feel like my life is going nowhere.”

_To ask_.

“Yeah?” Prompto gently urged.

“I feel guilty to even feel this way to begin with - I’ve hardly a thing to complain about. Compared to most, my life is a simple walk in the park.”

Prompto leaned his arms against the counter. “Mind if I ask where you work?”

“Not at all.” Ignis paused. He grimaced, as if his answer was shameful. “Caelum Corp.”

Prompto's eyes widened. “Holy shit,” he hissed. “Caelum Corp?”

“Yes,” Ignis replied. “Caelum Corp.”

“Damn. I had a hunch that you had it made, but I was _not_ expecting Caelum Corp of all places.”

Ignis smiled grimly. “Ignis Scientia, Head of Operations for the Caelum Corporation.”

“Daaaaaang.”

“But I may as well not be.”

“What do you mean?”

Ignis tapped his gloved finger against his glass. “Most days, I'm more just a… glorified secretary, rather than someone in a position of power.”

Prompto was about to inquire, but Ignis cut him off before he could. “You see, there is something about me that comes into play here,” he continued. “Something I don't tell others about, for obvious reasons.”

Prompto blinked, curious. “And what's that?”

“I am a member of the Lucis Caelum family.”

Prompto’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Holy shit!”

Ignis chuckled, though it was devoid of joy. “My parents were a friend of the CEO, Regis Lucis Caelum. When I was a young boy, they passed, and the Lucis Caelums took me in.”

“That's amazing,” Prompto murmured. “I always wondered what the Lucis Caelum family was like. They're all so elusive, yknow? Never make public appearances. No one really knows what they look like. Rumors that they’re like your stereotypical evil corporation leaders and stuff. But that can't be true if they raised someone like you, right?”

Ignis smiled faintly. “Correct,” he replied. “They are very kind. They took care of me, made sure I had everything I needed to flourish. However, that does not necessarily mean that I was given special treatment.”

“What do you mean?”

“Myself and Regis’ only son, Noctis, were encouraged to live a normal life. We attended public schools like everyone else, worked normal jobs like everyone else… And finally, once we finished our post-secondary education, we both applied to work for the family business, and worked our way up the corporate ladder.”

“I can't decide if that's amazing or shitty.”

“A bit of both, but in the end I'm glad that we were given equal and fair treatment. I don’t think I would have been able to live with myself if I’d known that I was only there because I was given a free pass from day one.”

“So what's the problem, then?”

Ignis rubbed at his chin. “Despite my position… I feel like there is nothing for me to strive for anymore,” he said calmly. “There is no challenge, no goals to work towards. Nothing to look forward to, no excitement, no stimulation. Most days my tasks consist of fetching special brands of food for the break room for Noctis, and making sure he doesn't sleep at his desk and miss his important meetings.”

Prompto whistled. “Damn. That's harsh.”

“It is. But it pays. And pays well. It's stable, easy work. So why do I feel this way?” Ignis closed his eyes, sighing. “Why is it that I'm so… _miserable?”_

“You're in a rut,” Prompto said simply. “It happens. And it's normal, too. There's absolutely nothing wrong with feeling that way.”

Ignis looked at him.

“You want more out of your life, right? You want change. You want someone to throw a banana peel in your go-kart’s path, to be challenged with daily obstacles. You want to feel _accomplished._ Right? Like what you’re doing every day _means_ something.”

Ignis nodded.

“You don't _really_ want to be grabbing chicken nuggets for your sorta-brother from nine to five, seven days a week, do you?”

Ignis smiled solemnly. It was an almost sad smile, one that was for no one in particular. “No,” he said quietly.

“I didn't think so.” Prompto leaned his arm against the counter, chin resting on his hand. “You must have had a dream once, right? What was it?”

Ignis took in a short breath. “Before my parents passed…” he paused, as if he weren’t sure he wanted to divulge the information. “I was classically trained in the violin.”

“Whoa,” Prompto gawked. “The violin… Seriously? Ignis, that's incredible!”

“I suppose you could say that once upon a time, I dreamed of traveling the world as a part of a professional symphony orchestra.”

“But then…?”

“But then, my parents passed. And with them, so did my passion for music. Some days I wonder what my life could have been like had I continued to pursue it, and if I had, would I be as well off as I am now? Would I be successful? Would I have a roof over my head, food on the table every day?”

Prompto studied Ignis, carefully choosing his next words. “But more importantly, though... Would you have been happy?” he asked.

Ignis fell silent, his posture stiffening as he became deep in thought. “Yes,” he whispered at last. “Yes, I believe I would have been.”

Prompto nodded. “It's okay to have your doubts. To consider the what ifs. I mean, I've got them too.”

“Oh?” Ignis seemed to perk up. “You didn't always want to be a bartender?”

“Nope,” said Prompto, shrugging.

“But you’re so good at it.”

Prompto laughed. “Maybe, but nah. It's dumb, but---”

“I severely doubt it's dumb in the slightest,” Ignis interjected.

“Lemme finish. It's dumb, but when I was a kid,” Prompto continued, “I was really into photography. Always running around with cheap one time use cameras, snapping pics of everything and everyone. I…” He paused, looking embarrassed. He then sighed, fiddling with the bowtie on his uniform. He gave a groan in finality. “I wanted to work for Meteor Publishing. Get my photos in a magazine. Y’know. News articles. Full page spreads. That kinda stuff. Really get my work out there, and my name to go with it.”

Ignis didn't seem fazed in the slightest; rather, he looked thoughtful. “That's a wonderful dream, Prompto,” he said. “What happened?”

“Mom squashed that like a bug. Always going off about how there's no money in that, how it's nothing but a huge waste of time and resources. So, after high school, I kinda just… gave up, asked a buddy for advice on what would get me good money, he suggested bartending, and then _bam_. I ended up here.”

“So you don't enjoy your job?”

“Oh, don't get me wrong. I do enjoy it. Making drinks is kinda like art, right? And believe it or not, I used to kinda be a shut in. I, uh, found it really hard to talk to people, so at least bartending helped me come out of my shell.” Prompto sighed. “But…”

“But,” Ignis continued for him, “it’s not photography.”

Prompto made finger-guns at him. “You got it.”

“It looks like we have more in common than we thought.”

“Heh. Looks like it.”

The pair went quiet for a short while, neither of them making eye contact. Prompto’s nerves were rising, feeling vulnerable and a bit awkward that he told Ignis something so personal about himself. He didn’t really like to talk about it - almost like he was ashamed of himself. Whether the shame was for his interest in photography in itself, or shame from how he let his parents tell him what to do - he wasn’t sure. But now, things had gotten sort of intimate between them and… he had no idea what to make of it. But maybe… Ignis was feeling the same.

“You know, it’s rather strange,” Ignis said, breaking the silence at last. “I don’t often share my life story like this. It's really not like me to gab on and on about my sorrows and woes at strangers.”

“Well, it _is_ a bar. I get to hear all kinds of interesting and often personal things from the people that come in here.” Prompto smiled. “If I’m the first person you’ve told that stuff to? Colour me honored then. But I dunno, I don't think it's weird.”

“Perhaps for you. You said so yourself - it’s part of your job to listen to what your patrons have to say. Customer service.”

“Yeah, sure. But… that’s with random people. Even my regulars, it’s like… cool, they’re nice and all. They bring in lots of cash. But I don’t really feel anything when I talk with them. But with you?” Prompto’s mind was screaming at him to stop talking, but the words kept falling out. “It feels... I don’t know… different.”

“Is that so? Perhaps that’s why I was able to talk with you so easily, then.” Ignis shifted his weight in his seat, sitting up straight for the first time since he’d gotten here. “ _You_ are different, Prompto. In a world like mine that is filled to the brim with stuffy professionals who hardly crack a smile even on their best days, conversing with you is like a breath of much needed fresh air.”

Prompto felt his heart leap in his chest. “I----”

“Maybe somewhere along the way… my subconscious decided that you’re not a mere stranger to me anymore. You’ve become a constant. For once, there’s someone in my life that I actually look forward to seeing.”

Prompto felt dizzy. “I, uh----” he fumbled.

Ignis’ shoulders sank. “...My apologies if that was too forward,” he added quietly.

Prompto swore he saw the faintest hint of colour rise along Ignis’ cheeks. Was Ignis… shy? Or… had Prompto completely hecked this frankly _great_ moment up?

Prompto attempted to recover, grabbing a lifeline hanging above his whirlpool of emotions he found himself drowning in. “No! No way! Not too forward at all!” he said, holding his hands up in front of him. “Cuz dude, you know, I feel… the same? I think we’ve got a good thing going on here. Totally. Not forward.” He laughed nervously. “You’re not like my other customers, either. You’re unique. You’re cool. You’re mysterious. And you’re just… I dunno, overall pleasant. A joy to serve. A joy to talk to.” He took a deep breath. “A joy to be around as a whole.”

Ignis’ Adam’s apple bobbed, his lips parting.

“Anyway!” Prompto clapped his hands together again, his mind racing as fast as his heart. “Anyway anyway anyway! Why don’t we go ahead and take our relationship to the next level, huh? What do you say?”

Ignis just stared at him.

“Er…. I mean,” Prompto laughed again, forcing himself to just _stop floundering and get on with it._ “Would it be less weird for you to gab your life story at me if I wasn’t just some bartender at a pub you go to every Friday night, and was your… I dunno… friend, instead?”

Before Ignis could answer, Prompto stepped away from the counter so he could retrieve another empty glass and some random colourful bottles from the fridge. Curious, Ignis watched as Prompto mixed him up a different drink than the last, effortlessly as if it were a meager task.

“For you,” Prompto declared shortly, setting the fruity concoction down on the counter in front of Ignis. “The Argentum special. On the house. Friend discount.” He winked.

Ignis lowered his nose to the glass, taking in the scent. “Pineapple, orange and guava juice, with a smidge of vodka?” he murmured, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah! Damn, you’re good,” Prompto praised. “Remember Pogs? They're back! In drink form! And this time, for adults and not grade schoolers.”

It was then that Prompto heard a most glorious sound - laughter. Ignis… was laughing. For the first time, he was laughing, and it was genuine, filled with a light joy that sailed effortlessly in the air between them. Prompto would remember that sound for the rest of his life.

After taking a slow sip of his drink, Ignis spoke, the laughter lingering in the creases of his smile. “I can't say I was ever swept up in the Pog craze, but I suppose it's never too late to start,” he mused lightly.

“Oh yeah? So what’s the verdict? You ready to throw down some metal slammers and play for keeps?”

Ignis chuckled. “I have to admit, it’s quite good.”

Prompto pumped his fists in the air. “Heck yeah!” he cheered. His hands met the countertop next, drumming a steady beat that grew in tempo as fast as his grin did. Suddenly, he stopped, when he felt something peculiar - a hand, on top of his own. When did that get there? And how? He quickly recognized the sensation as Ignis’ glove - it felt so soft, so smooth against his skin, and next he felt his breath quickly stolen away by his heart.

“To our hopes and dreams,” Ignis murmured softly. In his other hand, he’d lifted his glass in a toast. “May we never forget who we are, underneath it all.”

Prompto’s breath hitched as he scrambled to produce a glass of his own. At a loss, he poured himself a shot, raising it in the air to meet Ignis’ glass.

“To our hopes and dreams,” Prompto agreed. “And… our futures.” He paused, chewing his lip before he smiled an honest smile. “Maybe… one day, cameras and violins will finally be a part of them.”

Ignis smiled, too. “Perhaps they will.”

_Clink_.

Prompto closed the bar early that night, but he and one other patron didn’t leave.

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblrs:  
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> [saturnvalleycoffee (Misc/main)](http://saturnvalleycoffee.tumblr.com)
> 
> Twitter:  
> [SongOfMarbule](https://twitter.com/SongOfMarbule)


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